


Of Death Eaters and barricades

by FixaIdea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Death Eaters, Detectives, Gen, and Good Omens, teeny tiny barely-there allusion to Bedknobs and Broomsticks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Harry Potter wanted was a calm, boring year at Hogwarts when he could finally track down and lift the curse Voldemort has left on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.<br/>What he got instead was the looming threat of a returning Death Eater order and a bunch of unimpressed Beauxbattons exchange students.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was staring somewhat moodily out of the taxi’s window. It was a bright, cheerful September morning, but the warm, friendly sunlight did nothing to improve his mood. With a sigh he turned to his classmate-turned-colleague Parvati Patil and asked:

  
“Remind me again, why are we the ones saddled with this _thrilling_ task?”

  
Parvati merely rolled her eyes, not dignifying the question both of them knew the answer to perfectly well with a reaction. Their orders were simple: go to Hogwarts, split the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher between them, track down and finally lift the curse Voldemort put on the position.

  
After the Battle of Hogwarts everybody hoped that the Dark Lord’s legacy, this very curse included, would die with him, but now, two and a half years and two teachers later it was evidently not the case. Being fed up with having to practically hunt down increasingly reluctant employees, Headmistress Minerva McGonogall called upon the Ministry of Magic for help. The Ministry (no doubt believing they were performing some grand gesture) assigned the job to rookie Aurrors Potter and Patil. Their reasoning was such: the problem didn’t call for many people or seasoned professionals (Harry was still alternately laughing and crying over this one), it was related to Voldemort, so it was personal for Harry, and while he was at it he could bring along a trainee from the Curse Diffusion Squad, thus the company of Parvati.

  
Harry sighed again. Under any other circumstances he would have found the task to his liking, but not now. Not when news of Death Eater sightings and rumours about their imminent return were whispered in every corner of the Ministry. And yet here he was, on his way to Hogwarts, well away from the real action.

  
The taxi pulled up to King’s Cross and the two new teachers quickly unpacked their belongings and began to navigate towards Platform 9 ¾. As the magical barrier came into view Harry had to stop for a moment to gather his courage. He was suddenly hit by the enormity of the situation: tracking down and dispersing a curse was the least of his problems. He was going to be charged with a school full of children, watch out for them, discipline them if needed, be there to comfort and reassure, and, of course, teach. He and Parvati spent most of the summer putting together an acceptable curriculum, running it by McGonogall, admitting defeat and starting all over again.  
His face must have turned some very interesting shade of greyish green because Parvati smiled and patted his arm in sympathy.

  
“It’s going to be all right. You did just fine with Dumbledore’s Army, it won’t be any different this time. Only maybe a bit… bigger.”

  
Harry smiled and squeezed the girl’s hand in return. They crossed the barrier.

  
“So very… few of them…” Parvati breathed, surveying the students waiting for the train. Harry could only nod sadly in agreement. The effects of Voldemort’s reign of terror were still clearly visible. While relatively few children who made it to Hogwarts were actually, confirmedly killed (and most of those who were, died in the Battle of Hogwarts) many of them were lost before even getting that far. Countless mixed families turned their backs on the Wizarding World and fled to live among the muggles, never to return. Even more simply disappeared.

  
Harry was just about to lament all this to Parvati, when a large group of students filed through the barrier. There were at least thirty of them, shuffling across the platform then coming to stand around in an awkward cluster, muttering amongst themselves. In French.

  
“Ah yes. How could I forget about that?” Harry murmured, turning to Parvati “Have you any idea what happened to Beauxbattons?”

“None at all. No one really does, as far as I know.”

  
The situation was such: France’s only wizarding boarding school, Beauxbattons, was temporarily shut down due to (according to the papers) a freak magical accident, forcing most of its students on a gap year. The most talented (and most affluent) however were split between Hogwarts and Durmstrang, in a form of makeshift scholarship.

  
“It must have been something awful. Something really drastic. I mean, Hogwarts wasn’t shut down even when people were turning into stone left and right!” said Harry.  
“Or maybe, just maybe the French have some common sense and survival instincts. And I’m pretty sure if the situation is that ugly but the children were made to attend anyway the parents would go all Bastille 2.0 on the school in a minute.”

  
Harry blinked. “I didn’t know you were interested in muggle history.”

  
“And I see Granger was right, you really did sleep through History of Magic, all of it. The French Revolution wasn’t only important for the Muggles, it also marks the start of the Abolitionist Movement.”  
“The what?”

  
Parvati shook her head. “The Abolitionist Movement. You know? Those who want to bring down the Statute of Secrecy? Those who take the last two bits of ‘Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité’ really seriously?”

  
Harry decided to leave the matter at that, turning instead to examine the French students. The cluster has eased up a bit, and they were now split into smaller groups. The centre of one such group was a tall, dark haired boy, sixth- or seventh-year, with broad shoulders and an obnoxiously bright orange jacket. He was wearing muggle clothes and was entertaining his audience with a joke or anecdote in a voice so loud Harry was sure he was heard all across London. Among the children listening to him were a tiny boy and a girl, probably first-years. The boy was holding a fat white cat and wearing an arrangement of clothes so eccentric he could have easily passed for Luna Lovegood’s lost cousin. The girl wore a plain black robe and held the cage of a very pretty snowy owl. Harry felt a sudden stab behind his eyes and quickly looked away.

  
The next group that caught his attention were three bigger boys, third- to fifth-years probably. Two of them were chatting animatedly, leaning close to each other. The third, a thin, tall blond, just stood there, half listening to the others, half meditating, withdrawn into himself. Or maybe just staring off into space, Harry couldn’t tell. Judged by his finely cut black robes, his expensive-looking traveling trunk and the majestic eagle owl perched on his shoulder, he had to be one of those children who only got to spend the year at Hogwarts because Mommy and Daddy were filthy rich.

  
Harry shook his head, but before he could continue his examination of the group, the train pulled up to the platform. After it came to a stand the tall blond boy grabbed his trunk and marched purposefully towards the train. After some shuffling about, the rest of the French students followed him. The boy with the loud voice and even louder jacket picked up the little girl’s suitcase while the small boy in the mismatched clothes simply poked his own, which then followed him obediently. Slowly the whole group disappeared inside the train.

  
Harry and Parvati exchanged a look, picked up their suitcases and boarded too.

***

The ride to Hogwarts was blessedly uneventful, a welcome change to Harry’s previous experiences. After they arrived, he and Parvati joined the first-years (and the French) to get to the castle across the lake. Before they could get anywhere near a boat Harry found himself half suffocated, wrapped in a pair of enormous arms.

  
“S’ nice to see you too, Hagrid…” he managed to choke out.

  
They helped the gamekeeper sort the students into boats, then joined him in the one at the head of the row. As much as the thickening twilight would allow it, Harry tried to resume his surveying of the students. He spotted the blond boy again. He was wedged between his two companions and wore a closed-off, aloof expression. Harry nudged Parvati.

  
“A galleon on that one ending up in Slytherin.”  
“What gives?”  
“Let’s just say he reminds me of _someone_ …”

  
Parvati took a good look at the lad.

  
“You’re on. I see where you’re coming from, but at least his friends look like they can count up to ten without much difficulty. Unlike… you know. Crabble and Goyle.”

  
After this little exchange Harry quickly forgot about the students. As the castle drew closer and closer his heart decided to take up residence in his throat and his stomach tried its best to tie itself up in some really convoluted knot. Parvati didn’t seem to fare much better either.

  
The minutes after landing were a blur. Harry later vaguely recalled being greeted by Flitwick, the new Deputy Headmaster, gently being pushed towards the Great Hall by Hagrid and finding himself seated between Parvati and the gamekeeper. And staring at the gathered students in mild panic. He only snapped out of it when he realised Headmistress McGonogall was introducing him and Parvati to the school. At that he stood up and waved, trying for his most winning, confident smile. He was used to being gaped at, but this was on a whole new level. He was glad when the Sorting Ceremony finally started, giving the children something else to focus on.

  
Sorting out the British first-years was a sadly quick affair. Harry tried his best to remember names (and found himself envious of Parvati, who brought a notebook). After the British youngsters were settled the French students walked on to the podium. Remembering the bet, Harry and Parvati exchanged a glance.  
The two friends of their target were sorted before him: Combeferre, a tall, brown boy with glasses ended up in Ravenclaw and Courfeyrac, a slightly pudgy youth with curly brown hair was sorted to Gryffindor. Finally the blond boy was called up.

  
“Enjolras, René”

  
He marched up to the chair, put the hat on his head… and stayed there. And then stayed for a while longer. Harry knew from experience that, while the audience heard nothing, the hat was muttering half to itself, half to the student. After almost two minutes it finally spoke up:

  
“Slytherin!”

  
Harry grinned as Parvati grudgingly handed over the galleon.

***

Harry smiled sheepishly at McGonogall. She glared back at him.

  
“Well, Potter, I must say the existence of this… _thing_ … explains a lot.”

  
Between them, on McGonogall’s desk, lay the Marauders’ Map.

  
It was the day after the Sorting Ceremony, and Harry and Parvati had met the Headmistress with the intention of discussing their plans for the upcoming investigation and, as a means of demonstration, Harry brought his map along. If McGonogall was secretly impressed by his father’s work she sure knew how to hide it.  
He shrugged and bent over the map to explain his plan when there was a knock on the office door.

  
“Come it” called the Headmistress.

  
At that, Tall Blond French Boy (what was his name again?) and his two friends filed in.

  
“How may I help you, gentlemen?”

  
The blond boy stepped forward.

  
“We want…” he frowned a little, searching for words ”We _would like_ to see the School Rules. We want to know if sitting at assigned tables at meals is an actual rule or just a tradition.”

  
He spoke with a heavy accent but otherwise well enough, Harry had to hand it to him. McGonogall merely raised an eyebrow. There was some muttering and mutual nudging on the boys’ part, then the second, the one with glasses, who ended up in Ravenclaw stepped forward.

  
“We understand that you need the Houses to manage classes and sort people into dormitories, but why should that affect our free time? Why can’t we sit together at breakfast? We’ll put any chairs we move back to where they came from, we promise!”  
“It’s almost like you don’t want people to make friends from other Houses.” added the third, the one with the curly hair.  
“Very well” said McGonogall, leaning back in her chair “I’ll see what I can do for you, misters…?”  
“Enjolras”  
“Combeferre”  
“Courfeyrac”

  
After the door closed behind the boys Harry wordlessly handed back the galleon to a sniggering Parvati.

  
“They always come in threes, don’t they?” sighed the Headmistress.


	2. Chapter 2

Settling into the role of a teacher was at the same time easier and much, much weirder than Harry expected. Discipline and making the class pay attention wasn’t that bad: he was Harry Potter after all, everybody paid attention to him and listened in rapt attention to everything he said and tried to be on their best behaviour around him. Getting used to the very fact that now he was a figure of authority, having access to the Teachers’ Room, constantly keeping an eye on people and, for a change, being the one who had to keep up the rules was much harder. The fact that he knew quite a lot of the older British students personally, from the time he attended Hogwarts, didn’t help at all. It took him a few weeks to adjust, to be comfortable with being addressed as ‘Professor Potter’.

So the teaching was, all in all, going well. The investigation wasn’t. Not that Harry expected immediate results, but it was still a little disappointing. He and Parvati divided the school and the grounds around it into smaller, manageable bits and set to meticulously examining them one by one. Harry wasn’t a big fan of the method, but it sounded like something Hermione would come up with, so he went along with the plan. As long, of course, as he didn’t come up with something better. Voldemort had his habits, had his style, and if only Harry could guess what he was thinking at the time…

He was on his way to his room, still deep in thought, when he heard the rumble from the Great Hall. Quickly turning in his tracks he hurried to see what the problem was.  
He found a group of students, standing in a circle laughing or shouting, looking upwards. In the middle stood Enjolras, wand pointing to the ceiling. Harry looked up.

There was a boy stuck to the ceiling. Another Slytherin, as far as Harry could tell. He looked back down at Enjolras. By now everyone noticed him and fell silent. Enjolras glared right back at him.

“Let him go” said Harry with a frown “Why would you do such a thing?”  
“He called Feuilly a Mudblood. He’s done it before and I told him next time I catch him at it I’ll curse him. He did it anyway.”  
The boy didn’t look sorry or ashamed at all, but at least he flicked his wand and let the other down. Only when he was safely on the ground did Harry speak again.  
“That will be twenty points from Slytherin. Ten for calling anyone, anyone at all a Mudblood, ten for cursing. And I’ll see both of you in my office for detention. Enjolras today, Darren…? Darren tomorrow.

***

Later that day Harry was scribbling a letter to Ginny in the Teachers’ Common Room when a very grumpy Slughorn marched in and slumped down into an armchair next to him.

“All right then, out with it” asked the professor, addressing the room in general “Who did what _this_ time? I walk down the hall and I see twenty points missing! How did that happen?”  
“Two of your boys fought” said Harry without looking up “One of them called someone a Mudblood, the other took offense. I took ten points from each and gave them detentions.”

Slughorn sighed.

“Very well, then. Which two?”  
“Darren and Enjolras”  
“Well, colour me surprised!” said Madam Hooch, new Head of House Gryffindor “That boy is a menace. Oh, he’s all nice and quiet in classes, but the other day I saw him punch out Jenkins!”  
“What, Darren as nice and quiet?!”  
“No, _Enjolras_!”

There was a brief silence.

“Are we talking about the Jenkins in Gryffindor? The six foot tall one in seventh year?” asked Professor Flitwick.  
“I’m not aware of any other Jenkins in the school.” said Slughorn.  
“Oh. How did that even happen?”  
“He was pushing around a first-year Slytherin, telling her she was ‘Deatheater scum’. Apparently the famous French chivalry will not tolerate such things.” said Madam Hooch.  
“Well, my dear, at least I’m not the only one saddled with uncontrollable exchange students” said Slughorn with a wry grin.  
“If you’re going to bring up Bahorel again, I swear…”  
“But why wouldn’t I? You use the word ‘menace’ way too liberally, my dear. If Enjolras is a ‘menace’, what would you call him? That boy actively enjoys brawling, I tell you!”  
Harry sniggered and stood up. He had, after all, an appointment for detention with the aforementioned ‘menace’.

***

“Are you looking for something, Professor?”

Harry glanced up to see Enjolras has temporarily stopped in his task of scrubbing the dirt off of a row of statues and was watching him with a kind of shy curiosity. Admittedly, he must have made a strange sight, with his nose barely an inch from the tapestry he’s been examining.

“Ah, it’s nothing really. Nothing important.”

Enjolras nodded and returned to his statues but kept sneaking glances back at Harry, who was beginning to lose his patience with the damned tapestry. The investigation was going nowhere and this old thing looked so promising! Exactly the kind of thing Voldemort would choose to curse. It even felt like it had some kind of charm attached to it, but on a closer look that proved to be a perfectly harmless moth-repellent spell. Harry rubbed his temples. He was rapidly developing a headache. Seeking distraction, he looked up at the student.

“You are always so well-behaved in class, what was this mess with Darren?”  
“I told you, sir. He called Feuilly a Mudblood.”  
“Which of course is a horrible thing to say. I was merely surprised you felt so strongly about this.”

The boy looked at him like he sprouted an extra head.

“How could I not? Calling someone that is just saying having Muggle parents is a shame. It’s saying that Muggles are worse than Wizards.”  
“And you think they are equal.”  
“Of course. Don’t you?”  
“Naturally. It’s just, even now, even after Voldemort, is still an unpopular opinion in our world.”  
“But it’s so stupid! Muggles have sent people to the Moon! Muggles can talk to each other from the opposite sides of the Earth any time by pushing a few buttons on a machine while we still keep owls and stick our heads into fires. So pictures move in our newspapers, so what? A Muggle can pull out his computer and read his newspaper on it, the pictures will move there too! Anything we can do by just magic they have to do by being smart and they do! They can do anything we can! They can fly and Combeferre says they are on to figuring out how to teleport stuff and read minds and all that with no magic!  
And Feuilly. He’s fifteen and he knows how to make a muggle phone work in magic places. He is so brilliant and people won’t even give him a chance because he wasn’t born into some… some posh family and it’s all just so unfair!”

He was panting now, his usually impeccable grammar and vocabulary slipping, head held high, eyes ablaze with passion. Harry didn’t even attempt to reign in the grin that crept on his face during the boy’s outburst. 

“So… you wanted to know if I was looking for something. I am, actually. Would you like to help me?”

Enjolras nodded eagerly.

“You see, me and Parvati… I mean, Professor Patil, aren’t only here to teach. We’re actually investigating.”

Enjolras cocked his head.

“You always do that. What happened now?”

Harry chuckled a little. Apparently not only England but at least half of Europe knew his life story already.

“It’s an old case. See, back when he was still going by his real name, Tom Riddle, Voldemort applied for the job of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts. He was denied, of course, and it looks like Tom Riddle didn’t handle failure with any more grace than Lord Voldemort. He seems to have cursed the position. We know nothing for certain, but ever since he was dismissed, no professor could hold the job for more than one year. We’re here to track down and lift the curse.”  
“Here’s the thing though, there are about a million types of curses out there and we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for. Our only clue is that Voldemort liked grand, melodramatic gestures and symbolism. He most likely attached the curse to an object, and an important one at that. Now, I don’t want you to go out of your way and start to investigate on your own, but if you could just keep your eyes open for anything unusual, that would be very helpful.”

Enjolras nodded again.

“Sir, may I tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac? They could help too.”  
“Very well, just don’t let it spread any further.”  
“Of course sir.”

With that, the boy returned to scrubbing the statues. As for Harry, he felt immensely glad he returned that stupid galleon to Parvati.


	3. Chapter 3

Quiddich try-outs began, and as the first match was drawing up, Harry suddenly got a fresh idea. Professor were, unless they had a very good reason not to, required to attend all the matches, as they provided what slight security services the school was willing to offer. 

This was how an unusually warm, fine late-September Saturday found Harry and Parvati painstakingly examining the Teachers’ Tribune in the arena. Inch by inch. Properly. Thoroughly. Or so Harry thought.

“Potter, if you’re being this sloppy it’s no wonder we’re getting nowhere.”  
“Come on, I checked for every spell I know!”

Parvati stared.

“If that’s all you know you really must have slept through half of school. And all two years of our training. You can’t expect this curse to be something you’d find on a basic checklist! Do you know how many people have tried to look for those before?”  
“No.”  
“Neither do I, actually, but there must have been dozens. I’m only even trying those to have a feel for myself, I’m not expecting anything really. Not from well known, modern British spells.”

Harry groaned. Boy Who Lived or not, he really should have convinced the Ministry to give this mission to Hermione instead.

“So, what else can we even look for?”  
“Old-fashioned spells. Non-European spells.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Why would we bother with older spells? Aren’t most of those weaker than modern ones?”  
“They aren’t necessarily less effective, but they are more complex. They are from an age when Muggles and Wizards weren’t so strictly separated. There are spells that could be performed by Squibs or even Muggles they require so little actual, raw magical power. But of course they come with a lot of chanting and complex rituals and they are very easy to mess up. For example, there’s a spell called Substitutionary Locomotion, the ancestor of Locomotor Mortis. It can be performed without a wand but almost everyone gets it wrong for the first few tries and the results are… not always pretty.”  
“But why would these… Oh, I get it. No one bothers with these spells anymore so no one thinks to put up protective charms against them!”  
“Exactly.”  
“Well… I’ll keep that in mind, but foreign curses are a more likely solution in this case. See, Voldemort liked to flaunt his power, it’s unlikely he’d do something a Muggle could too.”

Parvati nodded with a sigh.

“So let’ see what we know abou…” she ducked her head as a Bludger flew over her head.  
“Careful there you lot” she yelled down at the Hufflepuff team that’s just started evaluating potential new members down on the pitch.  
“We could try for Eastern-European spells” Harry said, unfazed “I know he spent some time in Albania,”  
“Or he could have picked up a book about Maori curses and used one” Parvati sighed, looking as defeated as Harry felt just moments before “But Albania is a good call.”

Harry on the other hand was just beginning to perk up.

“Come on, Patil, it’s not that hopeless! He was a drama-queen, whatever he did, it’s either bombastic and grand or holds a personal significance to him. Probably both.”  
“Very well. Let’s finish this up and then we can head back to the Library to look up Albanian curses.”  
“What a delightful prospect.”  
“Come on, Potter, you can’t always have Granger to do the boring bits for you!”

They spent almost another hour examining the tribune. It went as could be predicted and they couldn’t even finish properly. They had to abandon their investigation in favour of helping the Hufflepuff team free an applicant from one of the hoops. 

***

Weeks turned into months and Harry found it harder and harder to keep up the fruitless investigation beside his job as a teacher. Especially as his initial charm was beginning to fade. He was less and less The Boy Who Lived and more and more just Professor Potter. There was no immediate threat of a Dark Overlord to motivate his students this time.

He wasn’t the only one who’s lost some of his glamour. As the weeks passed the excitement surrounding the French students died down too. Most of them only spoke English well enough to plough through classes and very few British children spoke any amount of French. The rest, those who could communicate well, have quickly proven to be sufficiently un-exotic and not all that different from your regular Hogwarts student, except for their accents. This resulted in most of the French keeping to themselves and moving through the corridors in a muttering, pointy-hat-wearing amoeba. 

But of course every rule has exceptions. The most noteworthy of these in this particular case was Courfeyrac, who quickly build himself a network of friends from every year of every House. His English might not have been as perfect as that of his two best friends but he made up for it with limitless enthusiasm and infectious joy.

And of course there was little Jean Prouvaire, a second-year Ravenclaw. Despite his introverted, timid nature he was the one who spoke the most to the English, students and teachers alike. Mostly because he spoke English so well that, if dropped at Buckingham Palace, he could have passed as British without any effort. Thus he quickly became the official translator for the less linguistically gifted exchange students.

***

Halloween came and went, and the day after the feast found Harry and Parvati in the Three Broomsticks. They have been celebrating the fact that, despite expectations based on previous years’ observation, the day didn’t end in disaster, and composing letters to respective loved ones when Hermione’s owl found them.

Since then, Harry has been staring gloomily into his Butterbeer.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, finally looking up at Parvati.

The girl shook her head and put down the letter.

“This is all very vague. Both the rumours about the Death Eaters and those about Beauxbattons.”

Harry had to agree. As the official sources let slip close to nothing on both cases, he asked Hermione to help out and do some research for them. She complied with her usual scrupulous enthusiasm, listing every bit of information she could lay her hands on, carefully citing her sources and ranking them according to reliability.

“It’s a mess. Some say Beauxbattons was run over by poisonous snakes, some say it was an actual demon…”  
“Venomous” Parvati corrected him, almost automatically “Snakes are venomous.”  
“Nah, just read it! These don’t bite, but if you touch them, you break out in green, itchy rashes.”  
“Great. Wonderful. Still, at least it seems like the Death Eater sightings were only a baseless rumour.”  
“Let’s hope for the best!” said Harry, smiling “Here’s to non-existent Death Eaters and poisonous demon snakes!”

They tapped their Butterbears together.

“Cheers!”  
“Cheers, Potter!”

***

“I’m not saying she should be fired or anything, but maybe she should consider retirement! This is getting ridiculous!”

Harry jerked awake from the half-slumber he’d spent the last half an hour in. Blinking, he tried to collect his bearings and work out the source of the conversation.  
It took him a few good seconds to succeed and identify his location as the Teachers’ Room and the voice as that of Madam Sprout.

“If at least she’d picked an English student! Those know what’s up. But no, she had to go for a French one!”  
“Naturally” huffed Flitwick “New audience, new targets. Who was the lucky one?”  
“Poor little Fauchelevent. She told her that her dad is going to be very sick. Poor little thing spent the whole afternoon crying and begging me to let her go home.”  
“That’s almost as bad as what Combeferre got. She told him she’s seen him in a ruined tavern, in a river of blood.”

Harry sighed and turned back to the stack of homework he’s been ‘working’ on. Trelawney’s never been his favourite.   
There was a knock on the door. Madam Sprout got up to get it and ushered in little Jean Prouvaire.

“What’s the matter dear?”  
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Potter, Madam.”  
“Of course dear. He’s right there. Could probably use some distraction from _all that hard work_ ” she said, glaring pointedly at Harry.

Harry shrugged at her as Prouvaire shuffled closer.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir” the boy began, looking resolutely at the tip of his shoes “But my friend Enjolras said you were the one I should talk to if I felt something was wrong. You or Professor Patil. Because. Well. It’s your field.”  
“And what’s bothering you, Jean?”

The boy shuffled his feet.

“Please don’t be offended? Or laugh at me?”  
“Dear Jean, even if I were the kind of bastard who laughs at the concerns of students, I’m sure your friend would pin me to the ceiling if I did.”  
“Oh… Okay… So… I think this place feels off.”  
“The whole place?”  
“The castle. It’s… It’s bad. Beauxbattons never felt like this.”  
“Can’t it be simply homesickness?”  
“I… I don’t think so. I don’t know.”  
“Are you sure this feeling doesn’t centre on a certain place or object?”  
“It…” the boy took a deep breath, thought for a second, and then continued “Some places are especially bad. There’s a patch on the wall of one of the seventh-floor corridors I can’t even look at, but that’s different. It’s worse than the overall feeling, but also different.”

Harry stared.

“That was the place of the Room of Requirements. It burnt out during the Battle of Hogwarts. On Fiendfire.”

Jean nodded.

“I thought something was up with that place, but… that’s not all.”

Harry scratched the back of his head.

“Very well, thank you, Jean. I’ll look into it.”

Prouvaire smiled his shy little smile and pranced out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry meant to look into Prouvaire’s concerns, he really did. But there were lessons to be given, homework to be corrected and by the time it even occurred to him to do something with this new lead (or even mention it to Parvati) it was already December.

The Christmas break, again, served as a grim reminder of the reign of Voldemort, as an unusually high number of students stayed behind – most of who have lost their parents. 

The French students remained for the break too. Proud as the wizarding world was of its supposed superiority to muggles the weather conditions affected long-distance travel by magical means just as much as they did machine-based aviation. Portkeys and Apparation were only safe in relatively short distances and only used in international travel at the worst instances of emergency. Thus, when an exceptionally savage storm broke out over Bretagne just before the French were supposed to go home, they were all advised against attempting the journey. Most complied.

Hogwarts, in turn did its best to make it up for them. The Great Hall was splendidly decorated (and if the colour-scheme was a bit on the blue-white-red side nobody was bothered enough to complain) and the House Elves truly out-did themselves at the preparation of the feast.  
Christmas Eve passed and the following feast found everyone seated in the Great Hall, chatting and eating, and – despite the circumstances – generally being merry. 

Harry used the rare moment of calm to discuss the possible advancement in the case with Parvati. They were right in the middle of planning out a method of testing Prouvaire’s intuition when a strange tremble ran through the castle walls.

Suddenly everything went pitch black. Harry jumped and reached for his wand – and judged by the screeching and thudding of pushed-out or toppled-over chairs so did the other teachers. He could hear screams and yells from the direction of the students but couldn’t see what was happening down there. He couldn’t even see his own hands. Slowly the noises stopped and the Great Hall sunk into a panicked silence. The darkness began to lift – revealing a group of people, about a dozen, standing between the teachers’ podium and the students. They were all wearing black robes – and Death Eater masks.

Harry instinctively lunged forward, only to be stopped by Hagrid’s outstretched arm. The gamekeeper gestured forward. Harry frowned in incomprehension but as he looked back over to the students he noticed an eerie, transparent, electric-blue layer or hazy wall between the podium and the rest of the hall. The teachers were trapped.  
One of the masked figures stepped towards them.

“Well, well. Surely you didn’t think this was all over? That losing our Lord would suddenly make irrelevant all we’re standing for? So silly. So, so silly of you!”

Oh good – Harry thought – go on, monologue, make a long speech, explain how stupid and weak we are, give us time.

The Death Eater – unwittingly – complied, as he drawled on about how Hogwarts was desecrated by the presence of Mudbloods and how this pest needed to be obliterated and the purity and glory of the place restored.

“You filthy bastards” Madam Hooch screamed “How can you even think about hurting innocent children?!”  
“Don’t worry’ the masked man chuckled “We did our research. We know exactly which of these” – he gestured towards the students – “is scum, and who is to be spared. No valuable wizarding blood will be spilled tonight.”

Harry shot a quick glance to the side. Flitwick, hiding behind Hagrid’s back, was already muttering furiously, no doubt trying to bring down the magical barrier. But he wasn’t quick enough. The leader of the attackers have fallen silent. Harry needed to get him to talk again, to brag, to threaten, anything just to give them time!

“But how?” he cried, trying to sound as defeated, incredulous and hopeless as he could “How could this happen? How did you get into the castle?”

This seemed to have done the trick. Death Eaters were quite reliable in this respect, they were quite literally unable to resist a chance to flaunt their superiority. The leader turned towards him.

“Ahh” he said “the great Harry Potter himself, lost and confused! What a glorious sight! Very well then, the cleansing will happen anyway, it is of no consequence if you know how we got in.”

Harry could have sworn he’d seen some slight movement amongst the students but he dared not focus on them for fear of drawing the Death Eaters’ attention on them.

“You see” the leader drawled “Hogwarts is protected against almost every spell currently in use. Keyword being ‘currently’. While you can’t Apparate and the use of the Floo Powder and Portkeys is strictly controlled you can, so to speak, still sneak in under the threshold with some ancient travelling spells. Not as accurate as Apparition, maybe, or as safe, but it gets the job done.”  
“Not as accurate. Hah!” Slughorn spat “What does that even mean? Oh, do tell me, how many of you got lost on the way?”  
“It is of no consequence” the hooded man said icily “The time of pleasantries is over.”

Harry cursed inwardly as the masked group turned towards the students. Beside him Flitwick was still muttering, sweating profusely.

“Well now, children” the leader began “This will all be very simple. I want the Purebloods to stand in that corner over there. No harm shall come to them, I promise. Oh, and as I mentioned, we have a list, so cheating is to no avail.”

None of the students moved.

“Really now” said the man “Don’t waste our time like this! You can make our job easier or we can go around and sort you one by one.”

At that one of the children stood up. He walked out into the aisle between the tables and stopped facing the Death Eaters. It was Enjolras.

“Very good” the leader crooned in what he obviously meant to be a reassuring voice “Now go stand in the far corner my boy.”

Harry wanted to punch something. Also he wanted his galleon back. So much for standing up to injustice when he’s the very first to…

One of the great tables crashed down between the students and the Death Eaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert cartoon-villain-cackling*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that earned the story its rating.

The Hall erupted in a cacophony of voices and crashes. Thankfully the Death Eaters were just as shocked as Harry was because by the time they could even think to react Combeferre and Courfeyrac have already added two more tables to the makeshift barricade and the rest of the students were fleeing towards the door.

Harry pounded his fist on the teachers’ table in frustration: the door was covered by the same vibrating barrier that held the professors captive.

“La fenêtre! Casse la fenêtre!” screamed Enjolras.

Harry’s French might have been close to non-existent but the meaning of the command became abundantly clear as the window closest to the door exploded outwards under the spells of the students. Big, burly Bahorel hopped up on the windowsill and with the aid of the equally huge Jenkins stared to haul the children up and out the window, into relative safety.

Meanwhile in the front of the fight a desperate tug-of-war formed between the attackers who attempted to dismantle the barricade and the students who were trying to keep it up and shield the others as they fled the best they could. This resulted in a dangerously swaying, floating-shifting wall of tables and chairs. Enjolras was hanging on to what used to be the Slytherin table barking curses at the Death Eaters and orders at the students. Combeferre, ducking hexes and furniture, was trying his best to protect his friend and the rest of the retreating students with shielding charms.

But he couldn’t be everywhere all at once. A stray spell caught Bahorel who toppled out of the window with a scream. Jenkins took his place without hesitation.  
Harry, thanks to his elevated position on the podium had a better view of the inside of the barricade than the Death Eaters but the rapidly shifting furniture made it hard to tell for sure what was going on. Still, the number of students still trapped in the Hall seemed to have decreased drastically. Craning his neck, he was trying to get a better look…

One of the tables exploded under the pressure, bits and splinters flying everywhere, wounding students and Death Eaters alike. A sharp piece of wood pierced Courfeyrac’s tight and the boy fell with a sharp cry.

The majority of the children have already escaped, which posed a new problem for the remaining defenders. The less students were still in the Hall the less were able to help keep up the barricade. The Death Eaters advanced rapidly and with a final forceful blow they slammed one of the tables right into the remaining students. It caught Combeferre on the side and threw him against the door. He slumped down onto the floor and remained there, unmoving. Two other children were caught right between the table and the wall.

Enjolras alone remained standing.

Harry wanted to scream. The barrier was still in place.

The Death Eaters were closing in on the boy.

“Foolish child!” their leader hissed “What are you trying to accomplish? Do you really think we can’t or won’t hunt down your little friends?”

He made an impatient hand-gesture. Enjolras’ wand broke with a crack.

“Now” the man drawled “Our Lord might have been merciful. He was strongly against wasting magical blood, you know. But the fools have murdered him and I’m not nearly as forgiving!”

He raised his wand. And collapsed to the ground.

The barrier was gone and beside Harry, McGonogall stood panting harshly, wand pointed at the Death Eaters.

Chaos reigned again as the teachers charged. Professor Slughorn simply walled up the broken window with a spell, trapping the Death Eaters in the same corner they drove the students, just moments before. One of the students must have found a broom and made it to Hogsmade and Flitwick must have managed to lift the barrier-charm from the door too, because it practically exploded as half the population of the town burst through it.

The Death Eaters were quickly overpowered. The more sensible surrendered, the rest were brought down by dozens of curses. Soon enough most of them were tied up and collected in a heap in the middle of the Hall.

McGonogall took charge and was now ordering everyone about, getting some to send word to the Ministry and St. Mungo’s, others to help pull the wounded from under the ruins of the barricade and take stock of their injuries. The battle cost the lives of two children and a Death Eater, all killed by flying furniture. Many were gravely injured. Madam Pomfrey quickly had them laid out by the wall and set to work on them. Courfeyrac lost a lot of blood but at least he was conscious and nowhere near in as critical a condition as Bahorel and Combeferre. Most of the injured Death Eaters owed their wounds to the exploded table but one of them had been hit with what appeared to be a cocktail of very nasty curses.  
She now had tentacles for a face and - while still alive – whether she was still sentient or not was questionable.

Aurors and Healers began to file through the Hall’s fireplace. Harry, reassured that the situation was under control, finally breathed freely again. 

Taking a step back, he felt something crack under his foot. It was Combeferre’s glasses. He picked it up and looked around to locate the boy – but he was already carried away by the Healers.

“Maybe we should keep those as decoration.”

Harry blinked and turned around. Slughorn and Parvati were standing beside him, looking up at the ceiling. There were five Death Eaters stuck to it.

Harry grinned, proud and wide, and a little hysterical. Apparently _someone_ has found his signature move. Speaking of which – Harry tried to find Enjolras, but the boy was gone.  
He quickly excused himself and raced up to his room.

After some fumbling he managed to dig out the Marauders’ Map from under the pile of papers and random belongings on his desk. 

He collapsed into his chair and set to study the Map. He could see Aurors, teachers and townsfolk rounding up the students scattered on the school grounds, McGonogall heading up into her office followed by what Harry guessed were Ministry officials, and Healers disappearing with their charges.

Thankfully no sign of hiding Death Eaters.

After a few more minutes of intense scrutiny Harry spotted a single, solitary dot on an otherwise empty corridor. Enjolras.

Harry scooped up the map and set out to find the boy.

It didn’t take long. He apparently made no effort to move from the spot Harry first found him at. He was standing there in the middle of the deserted corridor, staring off into space with the expression of someone who entered a room only to forget what he meant to do there in the first place.

Harry took out Combeferre’s glasses from his pocket, quickly straightened it with a tap of his wand and approached the student.  
He jumped a little when Harry laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, Professor…”  
“There you are. What were you doing here?”  
“I was… I…” Enjolras frowned and rubbed the back of his head, seemingly contemplating the question for the first time “I don’t know. Is… how are the others?”  
“Lynette Lavelle and Procyon McKinley died. Everyone else will be alright with time. And I found this.” Harry said, handing him the glasses.  
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t put the glass back into them, I don’t know what kind he needs.”  
“Thank you, sir. I’ll ask him when he… when…” Enjolras couldn’t finish the sentence. His voice cracked and his shoulders started to shake. In hindsight Harry didn’t even know why he was surprised, but there and then he was so shocked, for moments he just stood there, watching as hot tears ran down the boy’s cheeks.

When he finally broke out of his stupor he reached out to put a comforting hand on the student’s shoulder, who practically collapsed against him, wrapping his thin arms around Harry’s waist. Harry’s never been very good at comforting people so for a split second he froze up again. A small voice in the back of his head – that sounded suspiciously like Hermione – scoffed at him and advised to at least try and channel Molly Weasley. 

This was how Harry spent a good five minutes awkwardly hugging a shell-shocked teenager, occasionally patting his back, the only sound between them the boy’s sobs.

“’m sorry.” Enjolras mumbled. He was somewhat calmer now, but he didn’t pull away.  
“Don’t be. You’ve been through a lot today.”  
“’t had to be done. I just wish it was me.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his back.

“Yes, well… that’s always the hardest part. Sacrificing yourself seems easy compared to watching your friends getting hurt. But you did well, all of you. Hogwarts owes you.”  
“That’s not why… it had to be done.”  
“I know. And maybe others will tell you how you shouldn’t have been so reckless and so on and so forth… But I suppose it would be pretty hypocritical, coming from me.”

Enjolras chuckled a little at that, pulling away and rubbing his eyes.

“There” said Harry, smiling “We’re all right now. Everything’s going to be all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras bursting into tears like this might seem out of character, but please remember his circumstances. This time he's not a 27 year old man who already survived and most likely took part in a revolution before (in 1830). He's just a 14 year old boy who never had to fight and watch people get hurt and die before.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days were a whirlwind of chaotic activity. Despite the ever worsening weather conditions the French parents practically stormed the castle. When Monsieur Enjolras marched in, worried out of his mind and furious beyond belief, everyone was sure he was going to sue not only Hogwarts as an institution but every single teacher too, one by one. And then set the Ministry on fire. Thankfully after McGonogall explained exactly how the attack went down he was rather too proud of his son to think of any kind of retaliation. He even donated a hefty sum to help with the restoration of the Great Hall.

Other parents weren’t this understanding, so it looked like Hogwarts was facing a long, long series of trials and other legal troubles.  
Still, at least all the cursed and wounded made it out of St. Mungo’s and back to school in a relatively short time. Even though Bahorel wore some large purple dots and Courfeyrac was limping for weeks after the attack, they were both healthy and in one piece and, of course, upon returning to the castle, greeted like conquering heroes. 

That treatment was actually extended to everyone who took part in the Second Battle of Hogwarts. Enjolras, notably, was approached shortly after the event itself by one Rita Skeeter. He claimed to be unwell and declined the interview. The fact that Harry warned him about the non-existent reliability of the Daily Prophet, and more specifically, Skeeter, might have contributed to his sudden, unfortunate migraine.

***

Winter passed and a fresh, cool March morning found Harry taking a walk on the castle grounds. He was just about to return to his room when he stumbled across Parvati. The girl was standing in front of the school’s main gate, gape-mouthed, with a look of shocked disbelief and slight awe on her face.

“What?” Harry asked with an amused snort.

The girl merely looked at him, helpless.

“That bastard” she said “The bloody bastard!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. He looked at the castle, back at Parvati… and back at the castle again. Then he slowly raised his hands and buried his face into his palms.

“He cursed the castle.” he muttered “The whole building. What a bloody drama-queen.”  
“No wonder we didn’t notice anything” Parvati said, shaking her head “He wove it through every single brick. It’s so well distributed and thus so low-key it’s virtually undetectable.”   
“But we’ve got it now!” Harry said, then, throwing his head back he laughed with relief “It’s high time we got rid of that megalomaniac prick for good!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next year Harry returned to his Auror training. Parvati stayed - partially to test if the curse has truly, effecively been lifted (it has), partially because she liked the position.  
> As for Beauxbattons - the danger passed, but the exact cause behind the mysterious accidents was never fully understood or uncovered. The Quibbler suspects demonic activity, which of course everyone thinks is absurd.  
> Everyone, except a perpetually grumpy book-vendor somewhere in the Soho and his flash bastard of a friend.


End file.
